(anywhere we go) gotta let 'em all know
by girlthursday
Summary: Felicity pays tuition to learn, not to become the hapless victim of a prank masterminded by a couple of smug billionaires. (Or the Smoaking Billionaires redux of the prank scene from the Gilmore Girls episode "But Not as Cute as Pushkin" - 5x10.)


**A/N: **My brain went there. And this was what resulted. Sadly, Barry didn't get to make an appearance, but I think we can all agree that he'd be Marty (aka "Naked Guy").

If you have any questions, ideas, comments or just want to chat (whether fic-related or not), you can find me on tumblr under the URL mzanthropist.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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><p>Felicity elbows the floppy-haired boy slouched next to her, eyeing him in disapproval as his thumbs dart madly over the keys of his phone. She purses her lips at his answering grunt, just barely curbing the urge to roll her eyes and heave the long-suffering sigh that's been building in her throat since Cisco's arrival that morning.<p>

("Seriously, you agreed to host a sixteen-year-old boy in _our_ apartment without even bothering to consult with me first?" Caitlin asks, voice deceptively calm.

Felicity offers her a sheepish smile, a rather lame attempt at pacification. "He won't be any trouble, I promise. I used to babysit him all the time when we were younger, and he was perfectly well-behaved–"

"'Was' being the operative word," Caitlin interjects pointedly, arms folding across her chest. "When was the last time you even babysat him?"

Felicity falters. "Okay, yeah, you're right," she concedes. "An eleven-year-old is a different species altogether from its sixteen-year-old counterpart. But he and his mom were my neighbours for as long as I can remember growing up, so I know – or am at least eighty percent sure – he's a good kid."

Caitlin continues to look unmoved.

Felicity quickly changes tactics. "Look, Cisco's brilliant, he really is, and his mom, she only wants the best for him. He's being scouted by schools as if he were some nerd equivalent to a hotshot quarterback with killer passing stats; Rosa told me Harvard is _this_ close to offering him a full-ride. She just wants him to consider and weigh all his options carefully, to really get a feel for each school before making a final decision."

She draws a deep breath. "So when she'd called, asking if I'd show him around, I couldn't say no, especially not when he's pretty dead set on MIT. I mean, you and I were in his position only a few years ago; we both know choosing the right school is hugely important."

Caitlin sighs defeatedly, arms falling to her sides. "One night," she relents. "And he steers clear of my room."

Felicity beams. "Done. And duh.")

She was seriously reconsidering the whole spiel she'd given Caitlin; judging from the way he was bent over and sniggering at a text, Cisco didn't seem too concerned with getting the full MIT experience.

"Hey, pay attention, would you?" Felicity hisses sharply. "Professor Wells is the preeminent scholar on particle physics in the western hemisphere, not to mention the brains behind the particle accelerator you were drooling over on our way in."

"Yeah," Cisco agrees, not bothering to glance up from his phone, "but who knew theory was this _boring_? I'm all about the hands-on stuff."

"You can't get to the tangible, practical stuff without grappling with the abstract concepts first, Cisco. That's sort of how science works," Felicity whispers back wryly.

He shrugs back disinterestedly, now scrolling leisurely through his Facebook feed.

Patience eroded to nonexistence, Felicity thinks _fuck it_ and succumbs to the impulse; she lets her eyes roll up so high that she feels the strain in her extraocular muscles. Caitlin shoots her an unimpressed look over the top of Cisco's head. Felicity nods her head in begrudging agreement, a silent conveyance of: "Yes, you were right. How could I have possibly thought that a teenage boy would be interested in taking his future seriously?"

She turns back to her notes, giving up on Cisco for the time being. For ten peaceful minutes, Felicity loses herself to quarks, leptons and gluons. All of that comes to a screeching halt when a distraught Tommy Merlyn bursts in, flinging the door open with so much force that it bounces off the adjacent wall with a resounding bang. Silence quickly replaces the scratching of pens and clacking of keys; seventy pairs of eyes appraise the stranger with curiosity. Even Cisco peers through his hair, thumbs hovering over his phone mid-text.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tommy says hastily, hand flailing in an apologetic gesture. Felicity frowns, a foreboding sensation percolating in the pit of her stomach. Their eyes lock and one corner of his mouth ticks up impishly. Her dread intensifies; nothing good has ever come from that look. He tears his gaze away as quickly as it had found hers.

"I'm right in the middle of a class, young man," Professor Wells admonishes, bristling at the interruption.

"I know, I'm sorry," Tommy repeats, making a show of scanning the lecture hall anxiously, "but I just, I'm looking for Felici—" His eyes land on her again, and she snorts at the way he inhales harshly through his nose and puffs up his chest with purpose. He takes quick, determined strides across the front of the room before taking the steps two at a time to reach her seat.

"Felicity, you can't just walk out like that. I won't let you," he shakes his head emphatically, "not after everything we've been through. You just left, no note, no explanation. I mean, how can you be so cold? Don't I at least deserve to know why? Did I really mean that little to you?"

Professor Wells clears his throat, shifting on his feet awkwardly. "Okay, you need to do this later."

"No!" Tommy cries loudly, causing Felicity to jerk back from the sheer volume. "This can't wait until later. Felicity, I love you, dammit! How many times do I need to say it? How many times before you believe it?" His eyes skip agitatedly over her face before coming to rest on her eyes (which are narrowed and shooting daggers, ice picks and all other conceivable objects with a pointed end because she wanted nothing more than to murder him with her gaze. A muscle in her cheek twitches when the blues of his eyes merely shimmer in that dumb, amused way of theirs in response.) "God! Just say something!" Felicity winces at the shrillness of his voice.

"Okay," Wells says more firmly this time, "Out. Right now. Don't make me call—"

The door flies open again, this time admitting an irate Oliver Queen. "Tommy! What're you doing, man?"

Cisco leans over and whispers, "Isn't that the guy from the coffee shop this morning?" At Felicity's curt nod, he frowns in confusion, his eyes sliding away from the approaching form to settle on her. "Didn't he say he goes to Harvard?"

"He does," she says through gritted teeth. "Both these idiots do. But apparently, they like to make the odd five-minute drive out just to test my patience and mortify me." Didn't they have better things to do? Like attend classes for one? Was she mistaken or was Harvard not the ridiculously demanding educational institution it was reputed to be? Did they just laze around, tossing Frisbees all day over there or something? And was there a lack of extra-curricular offerings that didn't involve humiliating her in front of her professor and peers?

"Get the hell out of here," Tommy growls, drawing himself to his full height.

Oliver stops a few steps short of her row. "She's with me now. I told you that. Let it go." He lets his gaze rake over her, seemingly (to everyone but herself) out of concern. When Tommy begins to speak again ("I will not let it go!"), diverting everyone's attention away from him, Oliver, the cheeky bastard, has the audacity to _wink_ at her. Felicity fumes silently.

"She doesn't love you, Tommy! Felicity, just put him out of his misery and tell him you don't love him!"

"We were happy," Tommy dials up his signature kicked-puppy look on her then, imploring her to agree, "weren't we, Felicity?" He jerks his gaze to Oliver, snarling, "Everything was fine – perfect, even – until you came along! I can't believe I called you a friend!"

Oliver scoffs, "Oh, don't blame me because you couldn't keep her."

Tommy points at Oliver threateningly, trembling with convincing rage. (Their presentation was good, Felicity'll give them that. She would've been amused if she weren't the unfortunate victim of their elaborate prank.) "I swear to god, I'm going to kill you!"

Oliver huffs a humourless laugh. "Oh, I'd love to see you try."

Felicity's jaw drops, watching in stunned horror as Tommy lunges at Oliver. The entire class rises from their seats in unison as the two men struggle blindly down the remaining steps, each clutching at the back of the other's crewneck sweater. There's a collective gasp as Oliver throws Tommy to the ground and struggles to pin Tommy's thrashing limbs under his own.

Wells previous dismay graduates to panic, eyes widening in alarm. "Stop it! Stop this nonsense, right now! Charles, get security! Now!" Charles scampers out of the room, nearly tripping over the leg Tommy swings out from under Oliver in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

"Break it up!" Wells orders, voice rising to be heard over the scuffle as he hovers in the periphery, out of striking range. Tommy drags Oliver up by the collar, causing them both to scramble to their feet. He delivers a jab to Oliver's stomach, eliciting a pained grunt from the taller man.

Wells' voice is high with hysteria. "What are you – Gentlemen, you are losing control! There is surely a better way to handle this disagreement!"

Oliver hooks one arm around Tommy's ribs and wraps the other over his shoulder, then pivots his body violently to hurl his dark-haired friend over a table at the front of the room. He follows suit, planting a hand on the table's surface to launch himself over to its other side. People clamber over one another for a better look, riveted. "This is a classroom, not a wrestling ring!" Wells exclaims helplessly.

Felicity can do nothing but gape in alarm and horrified disbelief. They were really _committing_.

Suddenly a whistle blows, and Ronnie Raymond steps him, decked out in a police uniform. He has a baton clutched in one hand and handcuffs dangling from a belt loop. The aviators perched on his nose complete the look.

Felicity shoots Caitlin an incredulous look. "I am going to _kill_ your boyfriend."

"All right, that's enough! Break it up, you two!" Ronnie briskly strides over to the two tussling men. He grabs each by the scruff of the neck and hauls them to their feet. "Felicity Smoak," he chastises mock-solemnly, fixing her with what she can only assume is a stern look from behind darkened lenses, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, toying with these boys' fragile emotions like this! They used to have pride. They used to have dignity. They used to have _balls_!"

With the two men trudging ahead of him, Ronnie marches to the much-abused entranceway. He pauses, shaking his head as he looks at Tommy then Oliver as they stood limply on either side of him, lips curling in disgust. "Dammit, Smoak, give them back their balls!"

The three of them exit the room, and the room sits in stunned silence for three seconds before it erupts into boisterous applause and cheers. (Even the usual grim line of Caitlin's lips has split into a smile. Traitor.) Felicity slouches low in her seat, the embarrassed flush blazing across her body like forest fire probably hot enough to incinerate the clothes off her back and reduce the chair under her to a pool of molten plastic.

The boys then re-enter the room, grasping hands and taking a sweeping bow. Somewhere behind and to the left of her, some asshole hollers, "Encore!" Felicity vows to _tank_ his credit score.

Tommy and Oliver wear twin grins of smug satisfaction and blow kisses in her direction. Felicity returns them with the fiercest scowl she can muster and a one-finger salute. Tommy clamps his hands over his heart theatrically while Oliver winks back rakishly. She rolls her eyes at their antics.

Next to her, Cisco makes quick work of immortalizing the whole ordeal on YouTube, apparently having whipped out his phone from under the desk at some point to ensure she never lived this down. "If I had any doubts about MIT before," he muses, deftly tapping instructions into his phone, "they've all just been obliterated."

Felicity shoots him a withering glare, adding expunging the Internet of any and all recordings of the last five minutes to her to-do list, right beneath the first and most important task: plotting revenge.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading, and please drop a review if you've got the time, either here or on tumblr (link above). I love hearing back from readers!


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